


you're the reason I'm still up at dawn (just to see your face)

by Pinkmanite



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Fluff, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-08 11:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15929900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: “I can’t believe we do this,” Alex says after taking a sip.Dylan takes a sip, too, and sighs happily. “What, share a milkshake?”“No,” Alex reaches across to dip one of her fries in Dylan’s cheese sauce. “That we get a half-chocolate, half-strawberry milkshake.”“Why not,” Dylan says, a little defensively. “It’s half my favorite and half your favorite. It’s like our baby.”“Please don’t compare our milkshake to our hypothetical child,” Alex hums.





	you're the reason I'm still up at dawn (just to see your face)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stonesnuggler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonesnuggler/gifts).



> I could never do these two complete justice but today's kind of special, so I hope this is alright <3
> 
> (ilu ree)

Dylan loves summer.

Actually, he hates the season itself because it’s too hot and he sweats too much and it makes his hair even more unmanageable than usual. And there’s mosquitoes, so many mosquitoes, and they somehow seem to look at Dylan like an all-you-can-eat buffet, which is really just rude, actually. Worst of all, there’s no hockey, just conditioning and training and more training and more conditioning, which is maybe not entirely his favorite thing, either.

But even with all the things he hates about summer, it’s still his favorite season.

Because summer means Alex and _fuck,_ does he miss Alex.

It’s kind of funny, the way he could hate something so much, more than anything else, but throw in Alex DeBrincat and she’s more than enough to make it the best thing in the whole entire world.

Maybe it’s because _she’s_ the best thing in the whole entire world, actually like, that makes _sense_ , but that’s beside the point.

The point being, Dylan’s driving to the airport with his trunk half-packed, about to pick up the best thing in his whole entire world.

Yeah no, he’d do a thousand reps — push-ups, pull-ups, literally whatever, it doesn’t even matter — in a heartbeat for this.

For _her_.

 

~

 

Dylan has to do three loop-arounds and is just about ready to quit and pay the twenty bucks for parking when he finally finds her, gracefully sitting on top of her suitcase. She’s comfortably balanced up against a pillar, sunglasses on yet just barely in the shade.

She spots his car almost immediately and grins, waves a little, but doesn’t move from her perch.

Ah, so that’s how she’s playing it. Dylan rolls his eyes dramatically enough that she can see it through his windshield, but can’t help his smile, probably embarrassingly wide.

As soon as Dylan steps out of the car, Alex sticks out her thumb, arm extended straight out. “Wanna give a pretty girl a ride?”

Dylan leans on his hood, crosses his arms. “Sure thing, have you seen any?”

Alex sticks her tongue out at him and rotates her arm into a thumbs-down. She lasts about two seconds with a straight face until she breaks into a laugh, light and warm as always.

She hops down and goes for it, wraps her arms around Dylan’s shoulders and buries her face in his chest, all in one motion.

“Hey, stranger,” she says, muffled into his shirt.

“Hi,” Dylan says into her hair, holding her tight. Her shampoo is familiar, and it does _something_ , calms him, maybe.

Alex pulls away, but then knocks their shoulders together. “Yup,” she says half to herself, “I missed that face. That one right there.”

She’s already tugging at her suitcase and kicking lightly at Dylan’s bumper, impatient. “Open sesame.”

“What’s the hurry?” Dylan says, even as he double taps the key fob until the trunk opens.

Alex heaves her suitcase into the trunk, doesn’t even break a sweat, makes it look easy, even. “I don’t know ‘bout you but I’ve got a cotty to get to.”

“What a coincidence,” Dylan tugs open the passenger side door as he passes it on his way back around to the driver seat, “so do I.”

Alex scoffs but slides into the car and immediately kicks off her sandals and plugs her phone into the aux, all before Dylan can get resettled. He looks over and maybe makes a face, but doesn’t protest.

“What?” Alex says, flicking through Spotify.

“Nothing,” Dylan shrugs, “just, I’d expect absolutely nothing else from you.”

“You sure?” Alex grins, thumb hovering over her phone. “How about this?”

And she hits the play button, giggling as the song starts to play and Dylan, without missing a beat, grins wickedly and starts belting out the lyrics. Doesn’t hold back, not one bit. And by the time the chorus rolls around, she’s singing right along, too.

They’re hockey players, not singers, and maybe that’s more than obvious.

But it’s still the best song, always the best song. When it’s them, at least.

 

~

 

Alex is a girl who knows exactly what she wants. Which is:

“Food. Now. Please.” Perfectly timed, she pokes at Dylan’s chest, right as he drops the last of the bags on the kitchen floor.

But Dylan is unphased. “I know, I know,” he grabs the hand she’s poking him with and brings it to his lips, kisses each of her knuckles. “Change now if you wanna, but we gotta be in town in like,” he pauses, glances at the clock on the microwave, “twenty minutes?”

Alex blinks. “In _how many_ minutes, Dylan Strome?”

Dylan scratches at the nape of his neck. “Uh, twenty?” He looks at the clock again. “Nineteen-ish, now, actually.”

“Dude,” Alex huffs, more amused than annoyed, “you can’t do that to a girl. I still smell like airplane. I have to put on _makeup_.”

“No you don’t,” Dylan gets up in her space, kisses the top of her head. “You smell nice.”

“Well I _feel_ like an airplane,” Alex tries.

“Then I think we have a bigger problem,” Dylan laughs. He looks at the clock again, and grins. “Seventeen,” he singsongs.

“Oh my god,” Alex doesn’t waste any more time, already undoing her ponytail and slipping her headband around her neck in order to re-do it. She turns, kicks her suitcase toward the bedroom, multitasking while she does her hair up again. “I’m going, I’m going.”

“Sixteen!” Dylan calls after her.

 

~

 

It’s not like there’s a Michelin star restaurant anywhere within a decent drive of the cottage, and certainly not in town. But it’s a moot point, really, because Dylan knows Alex pretty well by now, if he says so himself, and that means he knows what she’s really about.

Which is, a solid cheeseburger and a milkshake bigger than her head.

It’s kind of a funny picture, two twenty-somethings boothed up in a small town diner, mostly empty save for the single waitress and the one elderly couple sipping afternoon coffee at the counter.

It’s quiet, it’s personal, it’s _intimate_ , in a way. It’s different than when they see each other during the season, trapped in their respective hockey cities, vulnerable to recognition. It’s not like they mind all that much, and there’s certainly ways around it, but it’s different, being able to just _be_. To just be them, like any other couple, and not have to think about anything else other than each other.

And their milkshake, of course.

“I can’t believe we do this,” Alex says after taking a sip of it.

Dylan takes a sip, too, and sighs happily. “What, share a milkshake?”

“No,” Alex reaches across to dip one of her fries in Dylan’s cheese sauce. “That we get a half-chocolate, half-strawberry milkshake.”

“Why not,” Dylan says, a little defensively. “It’s half my favorite and half your favorite. It’s like our baby.”

“Please don’t compare our milkshake to our hypothetical child,” Alex hums, then goes in on her cheeseburger again. She closes her eyes and smiles, savoring it. “They don’t make ‘em like this in the cities. All greasy and wonderful and stuff.”

“And stuff,” Dylan agrees, tucking into his own. Then, once he swallows, “anyway, don’t change the subject. You can’t get away with insulting our milkshake.”

Alex pokes at his foot under the table until she can hook her ankle around his. “I’m not! I just can’t get over the fact that our milkshake is like, so weird? But so good? Like that’s the most _us_ ever,” she laughs.

In turn, Dylan takes another good sip of the milkshake, clicks his tongue a couple times, makes a face like he’s thinking long and hard about it. “Well,” he says, seriously, “it tastes amazing. So if it’s a metaphor or whatever for us, then we’re pretty fucking amazing.”

“Yeah,” Alex smiles, and maybe she’s blushing just a little bit, but only if you look closely enough. “We are pretty amazing.”

 

~

 

Alex has always been a little bit more outdoorsy than Dylan, so he isn’t surprised when she proclaims that she’s going straight to the dock, before they’ve even properly parked the car. He doesn’t bat an eye, assures her that he’ll throw their leftovers in the refrigerator and meet her down there eventually.

By the time Dylan does come out to meet her, it’s not quite dark yet, but the sun is freshly set and the sky is that one shade of perfect indigo that makes everything just a little blue, at least around the edges.

The string lights around the docks are on a timer, have already switched on. It’s kind of nice, the yellow-y glow each bulb casts, painting shadows on the wood, on the ripples of the lake.

On the high points of Alex’s cheeks, the tips of her ears, the little wisps of hair that stick up around her headband.

She hasn’t noticed him yet, probably too focused on the ripples that form when she swishes her feet in the water. The surface reaches just below her knees when she sits on the edge of the dock like that, her phone and her dumb purple Birkencrocs set neatly next to her.

It’s just. She looks so beautiful there, so at _peace_ , and Dylan’s heart swells so much, so fast. He can feel it, a happy twist in his chest, but it’s overwhelming, a feeling that rises until it chokes him up, until he can feel it all the way in his cheeks.

He’ll never get tired of that feeling.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he finally says, once he’s a few paces from Alex. She startles a little but recovers quickly, twists around until she can glare at him. He grins, “I’m afraid swimming after dark is against the rules,” he tuts, points at the weathered sign at the end of the dock. It’s too dark and too old to read from here, but it’s there.

Alex rolls her eyes, kicks around in the water a little harder. “Lucky for us, I’m not swimming.”

“You sure about that?” Dylan starts to kick off his slides, drops and shuffles around until he’s sitting next to her, kneeling.

“Clearly,” Alex makes a gesture at the water. She might scoot a little closer, too.

Dylan wraps an arm around her waist, tickles at the little bit of skin that peeks out above the waistband of her shorts. She lets him, laughs along, splashes at him a little bit with her feet.

He pokes his fingers into both her pockets, tries to taser point at her hip, but fails miserably, much to Alex’s delight.

“You’re not even close, dude,” she goads him. “Totally off.”

“No I’m not,” Dylan says, like a smartass.

Alex kind of gives him a weird look and is about to say something, but then Dylan makes this face, and before she can question what he’s up to, he goes in for a hug and—

“ _Dylan_ , you _ass_ hole!” Alex shouts the second she resurfaces from the water. She treads dutifully, wipes a hand over her face, and resolutely glares at Dylan, who apparently can’t stop laughing, even as lake water soaks his hair and drips into his face.

“See? No swimming.” Dylan swims up closer, close enough that he can lean in just enough for a kiss. He goes for it, closes his eyes.

But then he’s hit smack in the face with a solid splash of water.

“Kiss that,” Alex laughs as Dylan instinctively shakes his head free of water. It’s apparently the most amusing thing in the world to Alex, because she’s looking at him with this little half-smile, definitely smug, but most certainly fond.

Dylan blinks at her. She laughs harder.

“Here,” she says, quiet, then finally leans in and kisses him, quick and chaste.

But it’s unfortunately a little difficult to properly make out when you’re preoccupied with treading enough to keep your head above water.

Dylan knows Alex is the better swimmer between the two of them, so really, he should’ve thought this through, but hey, thinking isn’t really one of his skills when he’s trying to kiss his girlfriend.

So he tries to get her to wrap her arms around his shoulders, but the second she does, they start sinking.

“Oh, fuck,” Alex grabs his arms, rearranges him, “here.”

She gets his arms around her shoulders, then, once satisfied, presses up against him, as close as she can get while still treading.

“There,” she whispers, lips brushing his. Dylan’s eyes flutter closed and they kiss, for real this time. He holds her tight, as much as he can, and sighs into her kisses. It goes for a while, probably unusually long, but for Dylan and Alex, it’s never long enough.

Alex pulls away first, because she’s the reasonable one who prioritizes things like breathing or whatever. She brushes their noses together as she pulls away, panting just a little.

She leans back, kicks a little until she’s far enough away that she can float on her back. She lays there, eyes shut, and so perfectly serene. Her ponytail floats, too, spreads in a fan of browns, different shades from the bits of summer sun she’s already managed to soak up.

Dylan stops and stares for a moment, breath caught in his throat. It’s one of those moments where he just can’t believe that he’s here, that this is his life, that Alex is part of his life.

“Hey, Al,” Dylan finally says, “hot chocolate or tea?”

Alex reorients herself, goes right side up again. She lolls her head around once, twice, the paddles back over to Dylan.

“Hot chocolate?” She furrows a brow, unsure why he’s even asking.

“I know,” Dylan says, “one day you’ll switch, though.”

Alex shakes her head, but kisses him the cheek, sweet, then promptly turns and beelines for the ladder. By the time Dylan climbs out, too, Alex is already toeing her shoes back on, dripping wet. Her shirt clings to every line and curve of her body. There’s already a puddle forming around her feet.

Dylan feels his own wet clothes weigh him down, tries a little helplessly to shake off enough water in hopes to stop the dripping. It doesn’t quite work, but it’s enough of a show for Alex, who’s holding both their phones in one hand and watching him, amused.

“You did this to yourself,” she points out, a little smug.

“Fair,” Dylan steals a quick kiss, “but I guess it was worth it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex hands him back his phone and starts back up to the house. “But I think I was promised hot chocolate?”

“Yes, dear, I’m coming, dear,” Dylan singsongs, half-teasing, already stalking up the hill right behind her.

“By the way,” Alex thumbs open her phone, open to Snapchat, and holds it up for a selfie. “Thanks for not drowning my phone.”

Dylan poses, unprompted, smiles as she throws on the puppy filters. It’s dark and grainy, even with the moon button toggled on, but it’s still kind of cute, the two of them drenched head to toe but looking like there’s nowhere else they’d rather be.

“I already killed Matty’s iPhone once,” he shrugs, “on vacation, a few years ago. She had it in her pocket and me and dad threw her off the dock and, well,” he trails off into a good laugh. “She was so mad.”

Alex shakes her head. “You’re awful, oh my god.”

“She got a new one!” Dylan protests, but it’s weak, especially when he’s still laughing. “Besides, lesson learned.”

They’ve reached the house, so Alex nudges him. “Showers, like now. But I still want my hot chocolate.”

“As if I would disappoint,” Dylan says. “Meet you on the deck in like fifteen?”

Alex grins. “It’s a date.”

 

~

 

By the time Dylan is done mugging up their preferred beverages of choice, Alex is already curled up on the patio loveseat, changed into fresh running shorts and a tee shirt that may or may not have “STROME” written on the back.

She’s already got the fire pit kindling brightly, and enough Citronella candles placed around the deck that even Dylan can’t complain about mosquitoes.

There’s plenty of opportunity to be pretty romantic here, and in the same vein, there’s plenty of things Dylan could say that would be really sweet.

But, of course, “I’m sorry, explain to me why there’s a Philadelphia Flyers logo on your chest?”

Alex makes grabby hands for her mug, which Dylan easily forfeits, but only with the same questioning quirk of his eyebrows.

She takes a sip first, and then turns just a little bit, so he can properly see the back. She throws a pointed look over her shoulder, then resettles. “Well I’d assume it’s originally Matty’s. At some point, anyway.”

“Do you have any clothes that like, actually belong to you?”

“Mine now,” she grins, then looks him up and down. “Nice hoodie you’ve got there.”

Dylan, in the middle of sipping his tea, squints at her over the edge of his own mug. “Don’t get any ideas, DeBrincat, this one’s my favorite.”

“You’re not helping your case,” Alex grins even wider. She already knows she’s won. Dylan already knows she’s won.

“My _favorite_ ,” he whines, “you’re lucky I love you.”

And Alex leans in until she’s curled up against his chest, until she can rest her head over the spot where she can hear his heart beat, even if it’s muffled. She nudges at his arm until he gets with it and wraps it around her, holds her close.

“I am pretty lucky,” she mumbles, soft but content. “Because I just so happen to love you, too.”

Dylan doesn’t say anything, but he breathes out through his nose, chest fluttering in the best kind of way. The weight of Alex on him is comforting, and it’s fills him with just as much awe and wonder and _I can’t believe I have this_ as it had the first time, and every time after.

He leans just a little, just enough to kiss the top of Alex’s head. He closes his eyes, takes it all in. Commits it all to memory because he never wants to forget it, even when he knows he can have this for the rest of forever, a hundred lives over.

Because all of this is why Dylan loves summer.

Because these are the little things that come with Alex loving him, with loving Alex.

And _god_ , Dylan loves Alex, every single part of loving Alex.

And right here, he knows she loves him, every part of him, too.

 

♡

 

**Author's Note:**

> once upon a time in actual real life, dylan strome (and dad strome) bricked matthew strome's iphone by throwing him off of a dock and into an indeterminate body of water in florida, whoops
> 
> anyway! if you want me to wax poetic at you for half an hour about alex debrincat's phone case, hit me up on the twitter @[pinkmanite](https://twitter.com/pinkmanite/) (you think I'm exaggerating, I am not. it's clear with a little bit of sparkles and it has a polaroid of her and dylan in it. it's Cute.)
> 
>   (also, 19 + 12 = 31. #WCgoals)


End file.
